(_Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force._) No. 19.] BLOEMFONTEIN, SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1900. [Price One Penny. COL. DE VILLEBOIS-MAREUIL. BY MR. H. A. GWYNNE. (_The following message has been received by F.M. Lord Roberts from Lord Methuen: "Arrangements have been made for the burial of Colonel de Villebois-Mareuil this evening with military honours."_) A short, well-built, admirably proportioned man, with quick, expressive eyes, and an open, frank countenance was the late Colonel de Villebois-Mareuil. He was a soldier, and a gallant soldier, from the top of his close-cropped head to the soles of his daintily-shod feet. Wherever there was war, or the possibilities of war, de Villebois-Mareuil was on the spot ready to fight for whichever side, in his eyes, appeared to have the greater claims on justice. Impulsive to a degree, he was often drawn to conclusions for which he could never give logical grounds. The picturesqueness of the Boer side of the war, the presence of old Huguenot names among those of the Boer leaders, the imagined wrongs of the two Republics, were quite sufficient to attract the generous and emotional Frenchman into the struggle. And once in the struggle, he gave the whole of his energy to it. Not content with drawing the sword for the two Republics, he wielded a charming pen on their behalf. Some of his letters to the Paris _Liberte_ prove that if the world has lost a gallant soldier, it has also lost a brilliant war correspondent. To us English, imbued as we are with a full appreciation of everything which appears manly or sporting, the figure of Colonel de Villebois-Mareuil is particularly sympathetic. We overlook his somewhat illogical defence of what appears to us the gross injustice of the Transvaal's dealings with Englishmen, and we only see a gallant Frenchman fighting and laying down his life for a cause which he espoused with the warmth of a generous nature. There is something touching in a sentence of his which appears in one of his letters from South Africa. "When I came here I believed I was going to the sacrifice." Gallant, generous, chivalrous soldier: May God rest his soul! Over his grave we forget that he fought against us, and we think only of the gallant soldier. A British bullet laid him low, but a British General lays him to rest with full military honours. * * * * * A BALLADE OF TEN-A-PENNY. BY J. H. M. A. Kopjes are steep, and the veldt is brown-- (Utterly true, if you pause to think) Biscuits are done and your luck is down; "Modder" is not an inspiriting drink (Dead Boers' taint, and defunct mules stink). Better the sound of the screaming bomb, Excitement and hurry of Hell's own brink-- Alas! for a tune on the gay Pom-pom.